Long Enough
by XII.XX
Summary: All he wanted was to share another watermelon with her, just like the good ol' days.


Watermelons. He tried remember the first time he's ever had one. It was back in the winter, that's for sure. There was snow everywhere. He remembered how much he hated the snow then. He hated the snow just as much as he hated the cold. As much as he hated the color white. Nobody could really blame him. He used to get sick all the time. And it was all because of the cold, white snow.

He couldn't remember exactly when it was, but there were flashes of it happening. It was incomprehensible how his subconcious could even retain such events. There was blood splattered everywhere. Maybe that's why he saw only red. There were bodies lying around, swords sticking out of them. He remembered an old woman prying him away from a corpse's cold hands, and taking him home with her. She was incredibly strong for such a frail woman. She asked him various questions, ranging from what his name was, down to his favorite color. He answered every single one. Then it went black. He seemed to have fainted.

He remembered waking up in a cot, covered in what seemed to be a dozen blankets. The same woman from that bloody night was at his side, holding out a cup of tea. He remembered her telling him to stay put in bed, telling him that he had a really bad fever. He looked out the window, and it was still snowing. It was then that he started to despise the snow.

He remembered sitting still in the old woman's porch, staring blankly at the blasted whiteness of the snow, when a girl sat by him and started whistling a tune. He chose to ignore her, but she was too friendly for her own good, and much to his dismay, she introduced herself. He bluntly told her his name, and proceeded to stare at the snow. She didn't leave. She just sat by him, seeming to enjoy his company, and, although he would never admit it, he enjoyed hers.

He remembered hating himself for waiting at the porch the next day for the girl to come the next day. She did. But, this time, she wasn't alone. She lugged something heavy and green behind her. She told him it was a watermelon, reading the curious expression on his face with ease. She then asked Granny, as she called the old woman who took him in, to open the great green fruit up for them. Granny obliged.

He remembered taking his first bite, his teeth chattering because of the cool flesh. Watermelon didn't seem to be a winter snack. The girl was yapping away again. She told him about how much she loved the winter. About how much she loved the summer. Then she went on and on about how much prettier the place looked during springtime. She loved pretty much everything about anything. She even told him how much she loved his hair, and about how how much it reminded her of the snow. When he told her he didn't like the snow at all, she only laughed, and ruffled his hair. It was then that she started to call him Snowy.

He remembered the day she left for the Academy. He told her that he didn't care whether she came back or not. She told him he was liar, and that she'll come back to visit. When she did, she went on and on about some Captain over another watermelon feast. He listened, or tried to, until he couldn't take it anymore, and attempted to distract her by spitting watermelon seeds at her face. She ranted about how mean he was, but the accursed Captain wasn't mentioned again.

He remembered when she finally graduated, and they shared yet another watermelon in Granny's porch. It was the last time he's ever seen her before his initiation as a Shinigami Captain. He remembered her hugging him like hell when she laid eyes on his white head, which wasn't exactly hard to miss. He hugged her back, then, she started crying.

He hated seeing her cry just as much as he hated the snow. That's why he wanted to murder somebody, anyone except for her, when she was crying her eyes out, and trying to kill him at the same time.

He couldn't understand why his eyes were all wet as he held her hand, her being unconcious. He wasn't even sure whether she'll live of not. He realized that crying was strangely comforting. Maybe that's why she did it so much, even when she was practically glowing from happiness. He still didn't like the thought of anyone seeing him, Hitsugaya Toushirou, Captain of the Tenth Division, sobbing like a child, and helplessly begging his best friend to wake up, like some wimp.

But, someone did see him. And in his Leiutenant's eyes, he wasn't a captain. He wasn't even the child prodigy everyone revered him to be. He wasn't the boy who tamed the dragon, Hyourinmaru.

No, he was simply a boy. He was a boy, asking a girl, a girl he's loved since who knows when, to live a little longer, long enough to hear those three words.


End file.
